The White House
1032 EST


"Finally let you out of sickbay?" Gregory asked as he handed Tarvey a cup of coffee.

"Not like they could keep me there indefinitely." Tarvey inhaled the steam wafting up from the cup before sipping. "Couple of pellets in the shoulder and a through-and-through on the calf. I'm still alive, Peace. There's folks with real injuries that need to be looked after."

"Did the True Sons have you scheduled for a waterboarding before we got there?"

"Not even close. I will say this for the man," grimaced Tarvey, his tone deeply reluctant, "Ridgeway really did keep his word about not torturing me. True, he wanted me in the best possible shape before he had me summarily executed for the cameras, but he didn't lie to me." He sipped his coffee slowly. "Unfortunately, that moment of honesty does not eliminate the necessity of putting him down as hard and fast as humanly possible."

"I would be super happy if the world wasn't screwed up like this by Christmas."

"So would I, Peace. But being a SEAL, I'm habituated towards disappointment."

The White House's PA system crackled to life. "Team Peacemaker, please report to the Logistics Officer. Team Peacemaker to Logistics."

Gregory's eyebrows went up sharply. "Now why would Coop be wanting to talk to us?"

"Damned if I know. But if he's asking for us, I can't imagine it's going to be to tell us something pleasant for somebody. You have any special requests lately?"

"Nope. You?"

"Uh-uh."

"Guess we better go find out what he wants." Gregory stood up, slurped down the rest of his coffee and waited for Tarvey to do the same before heading downstairs to the Logistics Desk. They crossed paths first with Bundmeister, who had been coming from outside near the helipad, then with Ryckmen, who'd be down at the range. The whole team walked over to Coop Dennison's waist high counter, the containers behind him both more numerous and far better organized than when Gregory had showed up all those weeks ago. It was a strange moment. He'd passed by the counter often enough, talked with Dennison from time to time, but there was a feeling of impending significance to this visit.

"Good to see you guys," Dennison said with a smile. "Guessing you're going to be gearing up for the last shooting match."

"It's always the last one till the next one comes along, Coop," said Ryckmen philosophically.

"Ain't that the truth? Still, I'm pretty sure there's going to be a good long time between now and then. But I figured that since only suckers believe in fair fights during a war, it's not unreasonable to slip a couple knuckledusters to you." Dennison's smile grew broader. "Christmas has come early, boys and girl. Ricky, since you were just in the body shop, it seems only right you get the first present."

"What have you been up to, Coop?" Tarvey asked suspiciously as the Logistics Office turned to a back counter.

"I've been having some very productive conversations with Inaya and Charlie. And believe me, putting those two together on skunkworks projects is probably the best thing to happen since sliced bread. They've been working up some very specialized equipment for you four. I don't think any of you are going to feel disappointed with these goodies. Ah! Here we go." Dennison pulled out a thick hardshell case, the image of a wolf's head with crossed arrows behind it emblazoned on the center. "Open it up."

Tarvey flipped the latches and opened the case, revealing a sleek composite stock and a pair of collapsible limbs connected with a thick cord. "It's a crossbow," he murmured as he brought it out of the foam lining and flipped a catch, the limbs spreading out and locking into place.

"It uses a pump action similar to a shotgun to **** it. The draw's a hundred pounds, so should be plenty of oomph to let somebody know they've been hit. 'Course, the bolts will reinforce the point." Dennison reached under the counter, pulling out a short quiver with a magnetic clip-on point, half a dozen bolts already in place. Tarvey gently pulled one out and examined it, the razor sharp broadhead point seeming screwed into a flared out socket on the bolt shaft. "Tungsten carbide blades on the head, with two ounces of plastic explosive and a half-second delay contact trigger behind the mounting thread."

"Holy crap," said Tarvey. "Armor piercing crossbow bolts?"

"Guaranteed to ruin somebody's day. It'll take some force to arm the trigger, so don't get too far out from a target. I believe Inaya referred to this little jewel as 'Wendigo.' Not entirely accurate, but not too far off, either. Charlie's ready to receive you down at the range for when you want to test it out, and he's got some non-explosive training bolts for that purpose."

Tarvey collapsed the limbs of the crossbow, attached the quiver to the mounting point right at the front of the stock, then held it respectfully as Dennison removed the case and brought out a second one. "Bunny, I know you didn't get a chance to pilot an A-10, but I hope this proves to be a suitable substitute."

Looking at Dennison, Bundmeister saw a lion's face crowned with rifle rounds painted on the case. Opening it up, she whistled slowly, reaching in and pulling out a canister the same diameter as a salad plate with a pistol grip on it, a red trigger set into the first finger indent, a set of six narrow rods set in a hexagonal array in front. On top of the grip was a small flip-up safety shield. She slid her thumb under the shield and flipped it up, revealing a red button. When her thumb depressed the button, the rods snapped forward and began to spin rapidly.

"No way," Bundmeister said, a ecstatic grin growing on her face. "Jesus, Coop, how did you guys engineer a minigun down this small?"

"Charlie and Inaya did the engineering. I just gave a few design hints. He insisted on calling it 'Jormundgand.' Guy's got too much flair for the dramatic."

"This is way too cool!"

"Well, don't get too trigger happy. The drum holds a hundred fifty rounds of 7.62mm NATO and it can be swapped out fast, but the supply is pretty small, so don't think you're going to be hunkering down and putting up a wall of steel. Short controlled bursts are a necessity. You can probably carry two reloads with you, but you're going to have to make those rounds last. So try not to burn through too much too quick."

"Does Charlie have enough to let me get a feel for the kick?"

"Think he's got some spare drums already made up. Go check with him in a bit. He can help you with the fit and the carry." Dennison shifted his gaze to Gregory. "Paxton, what can I say? You're not nearly good enough a shot as Ricky, much less Lowell, and you're not near the workhorse Bunny is."

"I feel a little attacked," chuckled Gregory.

"Well, when it comes to your new toy, we decided to make a virtue of your weaknesses. This is the force multiplier that will make your life complete. And also help you clear out the bad guys at least as fast as Bunny." Dennison brought out a case with a left-handed fist surmounted by a stylized explosion. Gregory opened it up, looking down at the weapon nestled in the black foam.

"This looks oddly familiar," Gregory said. "Pretty sure I saw this in the hands of a True Sons master sergeant back at the NOA office."

"Not quite," said Dennison with a grin. "True Sons have been toting around MGL-140s. This is the 140's much better nigh-on-overachieving little brother. The M32A1 grenade launcher, with enhancements the manufacturer would never have considered, much less allowed. This thing was already pretty impressive before Inaya and Charlie got their grubby little engineer mitts on it. They decided to call it 'Sledge.' The reflex sight allows a trained user to put a grenade damn near anywhere they want it. What our skunkworks team did was incorporate a near-field communications data link to ISAC into the sight. Now, ISAC will calculate the trajectory of the grenade, even letting you make bank shots before detonation. And since it uses 40mm grenades, which are more than likely stored with other True Sons munitions, you'll be able to scavenge just fine if things go longer than expected. Just be careful where you line up your shots. ISAC will be able to show you the hard kill radius through the sight. Five meters sounds like a lot of room. It ain't."

"I will definitely keep that in mind," murmured Gregory as he put the stubby weapon to his shoulder. "I'm guessing I need to take this outside to practice with."

"Afraid so. Even the training rounds kick too much for the range downstairs. But don't feel bad. You're not the only one who has to work outside." Dennison looked at Ryckmen. "Lowell, this one was literally a no-brainer. We know you're pretty much the team's designated marksman, so we wanted to find something which would help you out in that capacity. And we found it." Dennison brought out a fourth case, a stylized Grim Reaper grinning back at Ryckmen.

Opening the case, Ryckmen nodded as he examined the weapon. "TAC-50, very nice," he said appreciatively.

"Inaya modified it with a folding stock, Charlie worked on the optics, and since I knew you'd be getting this little beauty, I made a small aesthetic contribution." Dennison tapped the upper edge of the stock, a stylized stalk of wheat running from the folding hinge to the buttplate.

Ryckmen looked closely, seeing an inscription running along the stalk. "'Whoever wields me, wields the world.'" He looked up at Dennison. "I'm not surprised you'd go for a Bradbury reference."

"Well, Charlie and Inaya were referring to this as 'Scythe,' so it seemed appropriate. Unfortunately, .50 BMG rounds will absolutely ruin the walls of the range, so you're going to need to find a nice thick berm somewhere. Now, I'll let you four go talk to Charlie, figure out the best way to carry these beasts on your gear."

"Thanks, Coop," Gregory said, shaking the older man's hand. "I hope we didn't put you out too awful much."

"We're getting on to the final showdown, Peace," said Dennison, returning the handshake. "The effort needed to be made, and I'm happy I could make it."

* * *

The White House
1853 EST


Gregory's eyes were completely glued to his virtual screens, manipulating data with gay abandon when he felt a tap on the shoulder. Taking off the AR glasses, he looked over his shoulder. "Hey, Ricky. What brings you down into the server room?"

"Looking for you. Was going to grab you for supper and a final pre-battle briefing. What're you working on?"

"The life and times of Andrew Ellis. I wasn't making a lot of headway trying to come at this from outside in. Figured I'd look at the man himself."

"That is the normal course of things, isn't it?" asked Tarvey, leaning against a server rack.

"Yes and no. I've been taking a more indirect approach. Kind of like interferometry."

"Don't think I follow."

"Interferometry is a branch of astronomy that studies objects by the way they affect other objects. Let's say there's a spot which doesn't look like there's a star present. But the way other stars are affected, the way their light bends, the way they seem to be moving a little slower or faster than they should be, are evidence of an object's presence. So, I've been trying to work from the outside in at first, using the known connections Ellis has as a baseline, then finding loose ends and relationships which don't make any sense initially. But since that hasn't been particularly fruitful, I decided to look from the inside out."

"And has that panned out?"

Gregory sighed wearily. "Not as much as I'd hoped. If we start from the assumption that Ellis has done the usual Capitol Hill two-step, entertaining lobbyists and chairing corporations to stay in the good graces of somebody with more clout than he had, we run into a problem. Ellis, by and large, didn't sit on a lot of boards. A few of them, yes, but only one of them really kind of stands out as being in a gray area. He had a chair on the board of a financial services company whose stated areas of interest were sovereign wealth funds for developing nations. Because he wasn't on the House Foreign Relations Committee, it wasn't seen as a potential conflict of interest for his role as Congressman, and the SEC wouldn't look at him for insider trading because he'd be getting information on affected nations from public sources. Since it was a for-profit company, he might have gotten in trouble if a vote came up and it affected the company directly. He resigned all his chairs when he was named Speaker of the House, so that insulated him from possible investigations and censures. But my mind keeps going back to that year and a half he was on those boards." He looked over at Tarvey with a thoughtful frown. "Eighteen months doesn't sound like a long time, relatively speaking. But think of what you could do to cement your positions, to make connections, get something started on the down low that would have you up on charges if Congress ever found out about it. A year and a half to do all that spadework, knowing you'd have to walk away publicly, even as your back channels were up to speed and doing all the real work."

"Does seem like a decent amount of lead time when you put it like that," Tarvey said, a rueful expression on his face. "But bear in mind that, as a member of the House, he's only got a two year term. A lot of his time not actually legislating is pressing flesh among the poor constituents and begging for re-election money among the rich ones."

"No reason he couldn't work one into the other. Particularly among some of those more well heeled constituents. And that is kind of bringing me around to another point, one which you might be eminently qualified to answer."

Tarvey grinned at Gregory. "That's never a good sign."

"What makes a person want to work for a PMC after they've served in the military?"

Frowning in thought, Tarvey scratched his chin lightly. "The reasons are usually similar to the ones which moved them to put on the uniform in the first place. Some people are looking to test themselves, others are looking for adventure, still others work better in a highly structured environment. A man's got to eat, and sometimes, the meals are better quality in the private sector. And let's be honest, Peace, for all the squawking Corporate America used to do when they touted their hiring records for vets, there were a lot of companies who were deeply uncomfortable about the idea, if not outright hostile to it. Admittedly, things might not have been quite as bad as they were right after Vietnam, but the fact there were any homeless vets from Iraq and Afghanistan just got me seeing red." He sighed and shook his head. "On the other hand, there are some folks who shouldn't have put on the uniform. Sometimes, they weren't up to the task, and nobody realized it till the lead started flying. Others are full blown psychos, figuring they've got a chance to kill folks without any repercussions, which all too easily lands them in the brig if they're stupid about it. PMCs offer folks like that an even better opportunity to get away with it. There's benefits and liabilities to each side, of course, but I guess the critical component is that the government is a lot less forgiving about injuries. I mean, look at me," he said with a grin. "Being super fair, I might not be quite as good as I was in the Teams, but do I strike you as being useless?"

"Not hardly," Gregory snorted.

"According to the physical fitness standards for SEALs, I wasn't good enough to keep around. Same for the Navy in general. But all the pellet work I've done since Black Friday is pretty convincing proof I'm still good with my hands. I can accept that they believed my injuries warranted an honorable discharge, that I'd sacrificed everything just short of my life for my country, and they didn't want me to give that up without a better reason. But some guys can't. They don't see it as an acknowledgment that you did your bit and you've earned a graceful exit from the service. They feel like they're being thrown away, discarded like a broken tool, and they get right unhappy about it. PMCs can offer a way back to a life and a lifestyle they understand and feel comfortable in. Does that answer your question?"

"It helps, sort of," shrugged Gregory. "How Ellis feels about guys like that is a bigger question."

"What do you mean?"

"Ricky, if you look at Ellis' voting record, you see he was very invested in defending PMCs, keeping them in business as much as humanly possible, even though he didn't explicitly advocate for them. What's particularly interesting is that he never actually met with any lobbyists representing the industry, least not in his office. There are some images floating around of him at functions where PMC representatives were also present and he seemed to be talking to them, but it could have been nothing more than simple and polite introductions. And the financials don't show any campaign donations from PMC lobbies or industry groups. So what is Ellis getting out of them, and vice versa?"

"That is a pretty good question. Obviously, if he was keeping the rest of Congress from turning the screws too hard on them, Ellis must have expected some sort of consideration out of them later on."

"Yeah," nodded Gregory, "but what sort of consideration?"

"Probably not one you or I would agree with," Tarvey said darkly.